driver and conductor. I have seen officers, of rank
which gave dignity, clinging to the back of the conductor's platform
with their feet planted insecurely on a buffer.

I remember one very exciting run home. We started rather late from
town. There was a thick fog. The driver was inclined to be cautious,
very properly; but it was doubtful whether we could reach the camp in
time. I had found a precarious place on the step of the driver's
platform. Three subalterns, spirited boys, fresh from school, tried
to speed things up by shouting, "_Vite, Vite!_" "Much _viter_ than
that!" to the driver, and banging violently on the gong which warned
pedestrians of our coming. The driver remained unmoved and the car
moved very slowly. Two of the boys seized the driver. The third took
control of the tram. I do not know whether he had any practice
beforehand in electric motor work; but he made that tram go. We
rushed through the fog, bumping and rattling, making very heavy
weather of the points at junctions. I do not think we killed any one.
If we had we should have heard of it afterwards. We got back to camp
in time. The French chauffeur when he recovered his first shock
seemed to enjoy himself. Our driver was a very gallant boy. No risk
daunted him. I hope he has been transferred into the Tank service.
The work there would suit him exactly and I feel sure he would enjoy
it.

I do not know that even the prospect of returning to camp by the
officers' tram would have lured me to dine in that town very often.
One French hotel is very like another, and I had dined at many before
the war.

But there was one restaurant which was especially attractive. I
should never have discovered it for myself, for I am not very
adventurous or fond of exploring. It was situated in a slum and
approached through an abominable alley. It was found first, I
believe, by some A.S.C. officers permanently stationed in the town,
who had time on their hands for exhaustive research. I was taken
there by a friend who hoped to have the pleasure of shocking a
parson by leading him into the sort of place a parson ought not to
visit. As a matter of fact the place was perfectly respectable, and
the only part of me which was shocked was my nose. The smells in the
pitch-dark gullies which led to that eating-house were the worst I
encountered in France.

It was a most unconventional restaurant. The proprietor, an elderly
man, his wife, and three married daughters ran i